


A Gift From Chaar

by ultharkitty



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 03:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for dark_fest 2012 to this prompt:</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Transformers, any Autobot, Manchurian Candidate: an Autobot is captured by the Decepticons, tortured, brainwashed, and then released back to his own faction and triggered.</i></p><p> </p><p>Does what it says on the tin.</p><p>Massive thanks to naboru for beta. Without her wise commentary, this story could easily have been called First Aid Explains The Plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gift From Chaar

By the time they rescued Blurr from the Decepticons, he was changed.

He'd become quiet, defensive. He kept his back to the wall and one optic on the closest door. 

His wrists were scuffed, his axles striped with gouges. Where the light hit him - where _ever_ the light hit him - was a new dent, a fresh weld. First Aid had offered to grind them out, but Blurr couldn't stand to be touched. Not any more. 

Rodimus could imagine what had happened. 

Wheelie had fared better. Beaten, yes; scarred inside and out, but he was still capable of smiling. He still rhymed in his own odd dialect; he still clambered over the Dinobots, and drove Daniel around at breakneck speed on the free and empty Cybertronian highways like nothing had ever gone wrong. 

But he didn't talk to Blurr any more. And Blurr didn't talk to him. 

Rodimus didn't like it. They'd been captured together, held together. Surely they could distil some form of healing, of reassurance, from their shared ordeal. 

First Aid told him it didn't always work that way, and he should talk to Smokescreen if he was that worried. Smokescreen told him they were both making progress; he was doing the best that he could, and just to give it time. Recovery didn't happen overnight. 

It wasn't what Rodimus wanted to hear, so he went to Jazz and Kup and Springer, and they all told him the same. Blurr was coping in his own way. Sure, his own way was a bit insular, and of course he wouldn't be ready for active service for a long while. But he was training, Jazz said, when the grounds weren't too busy, and he wasn't neglecting to rest and refuel.

Unconvinced, Rodimus went to see him. 

Blurr stood in the centre of the room, arms folded. The floor was clear, the surfaces clean. “I'm fine,” he said.

And that was all. Just two flat syllables in plain English; no stream of consciousness, no sharing, no insight into how fine he was and what he'd done to get that way. It was as though the Deceptions had scoured his personality and all Rodimus had brought back from Chaar was a drone. 

"I miss you," Rodimus blurted. He grinned and looked away, embarrassed by his own sincerity. Blurr stared at him, and rubbed his wrists. 

Rodimus tried again. "I'm not going to force you, and I know you might not want to, but do you maybe want to come on down to the rec room, and we can watch a movie, or there's this new video game Carly bought for Danny … Now I'm beginning to sound like you. I mean-" 

"The old me," Blurr said. There was an audible click as his jaw set, and he pressed his lips tight together. "I'd like to stay up here, please."

Rodimus went to pat him on the arm, and the speed at which Blurr moved out of his reach was boggling. It wasn't any quicker than he used to move, Rodimus told himself, it was just that he didn't any more. Not while anyone was watching. 

"I'd like to be by myself now," Blurr said. "Smokescreen said it was OK to want to…"

"All right," Roddy answered. He backed out, and his spoiler hit on the door frame. "If you change your mind," he began, but Blurr just shook his head.

* * *

Wheelie was waiting in the foyer. "In time, he'll be fine," he said.

"You really believe that?" Rodimus wasn't convinced, but Wheelie nodded. "You think he'll come down and talk to us again?" Rodimus asked, meaning would Blurr talk to Wheelie more than himself.

Wheelie glared hard at Rodimus' knees. "Tough time, too unkind," he said. "We both know, can't let go?"

"You remind him of what happened, is that it?"

Wheelie nodded again, and Rodimus felt a surge of sympathy. Knowing what he wanted to say, but not having the words, it was something he struggled with too. 

"All right," Rodimus said. "Say, do you wanna take a turn around the track?"

Wheelie looked up at him and smiled.

* * *

When it came, no-one was prepared.

The briefing room was full: Rodimus stood at the podium, Ultra Magnus to his right. Arcee, Jazz and Kup took the first row of the assembled guests, with Wheelie and Sludge. Blurr stood at the back, behind the combiner teams and the other Dinobots, half-concealed by Cosmos and a crowd of Paradronian refugees. 

Rodimus tried not to look at him, in case acknowledging his presence would make him leave. Instead, he looked to Arcee and Springer, whose encouragement was always welcome. 

To his surprise, he managed to get through it all with only one mistake, and that earnt him friendly laughter. Rodimus ended his speech with the customary phrase, “Til all are one.” No sooner had the words passed his lips than Wheelie raised his arm and shot Rodimus through the chest.

The impact slammed him into the wall. Smoke billowed, and Ultra Magnus caught him, lowered him to the floor. Another blast sounded, flames shot across the room. There were shouts of anger, Dinobots roaring, howls of panic as the Paradronians fled. Agony welled in his chest; his paint bubbled and parts seized. The Matrix screamed. 

First Aid's face filled his vision; hands on his chest, a breeze on his exposed innards. Bullets ripped into the ceiling, causing concrete chips to fall like snow. 

Two words reached Rodimus's audials, despite the chaos of panic and anger. Softly spoken, achingly sad, “I'm sorry.” 

Rodimus heaved himself up onto his elbow, craning to look. Blurr stood over Wheelie, a pistol in one hand, the muzzle nestled against Wheelie's helm. From his other hand wires dangled and oil dripped. Wheelie convulsed, a hole in his chest the size of Blurr's fist. Then his lips twitched in a smile as empty as his optics. 

“So, so sorry,” Blurr said, and he squeezed the trigger.

* * *

“Look at me.” First Aid's voice, softly commanding. “Rodimus, can you hear me?”

“Huh? Yeah... yeah.” Wow, that sure was some bright light. Rodimus tried to shield his optics, but someone had cut the power to his arms. 

“You're going to be just fine,” First Aid said. “But you need to rest. What Wheelie shot you with-”

Rodimus' vision adjusted, and the white glare resolved into the lights of medbay. First Aid leaned over him, apparently checking his responses. “Wheelie... Yeah, Wheelie shot me.” 

“The bullets were coated with cosmic rust,” First Aid said. “We think they were trying to destroy the Matrix.”

“They?” But the answer was obvious. Rodimus groaned and rolled his head to the side. A flash of blue caught his eye, Blurr on a bunk in the corner. The mech was still, the only movement the pulsing pink glow of the forced recharge jack. 

“He's in stasis,” First Aid said. “Just for the short term. He tried to deactivate himself after... after Wheelie.”

Rodimus winced. “What happened?” he said. “I remember Blurr with the gun, but I must've blacked out.”

First Aid shook his head. “Wheelie didn't make it,” he said. “Blurr shot him.” 

“Blurr... I can't believe this. Wheelie was his best friend.” But Rodimus had seen the gun in his hand, Blurr's finger tightening on the trigger. Blurr had killed him, after Wheelie had tried to destroy the Matrix. “They did something to him, back on Chaar.” 

“Yes,” First Aid said softly. “It wasn't his fault. We should have guessed, but we were all so glad to have them back. None of us even considered it.”

“I don't know,” Rodimus said. He thought of Blurr's clipped words, his self-enforced exile. “I think Blurr guessed,” he said. “I just don't think he wanted to believe.” 

First Aid glanced at Blurr, then grabbed a cloth and began to wipe down his hands. “Who would?”


End file.
